


Something Different

by RB (BlueflowersandWings)



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, First Meetings, From Magnus' POV, Isabelle Lightwood Ships Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, Kind of a Shadowhunters episode, M/M, Slight Canon Divergence, Supportive Isabelle Lightwood, do not copy to another site, hinted romance - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:54:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28072050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueflowersandWings/pseuds/RB
Summary: "Magnus," there was a strange tone to her voice now, something light, something guarded, ringing in the warlock's ears. "Why're you looking at him like that?""The greater question is: why doesn'teverybodylook at him like that?" Tapping a finger to his chin, Magnus lets out a little sound, considering his own statement. "Actually, nevermind. If the entire world made it known how beautiful he truly was, I'd probably have a hard time catching his attention."[Or: the one where Magnus and Alec cross paths, little before their first meeting at the club. Maryse is troubled, Izzy is delighted- and with Chairman Meow's approval, something different seems to be blooming in the air.]
Relationships: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood
Comments: 17
Kudos: 181





	Something Different

**Author's Note:**

> This whole idea was borne out of the thought, "What if Alec and Magnus met each other _before_ their first meeting on the show?" and that is precisely what this is.
> 
> Hope you enjoy! o(*°▽°*)o

  


"Well, well," Magnus smiles, lazily trotting up to greet the unexpected visitor at his door. "Now _this_ is a surprise. Maryse Lightwood- to what do I owe this pleasure?"

  


"Curse the Demons, Magnus," the woman replies, her chin held high, eyes defiant, slender posture laced with such _intense_ rigidity that Magnus couldn't help but relish in that little twinge of amusement that blooms under his skin. The Lightwoods- and several of their contemporaries, for that matter- had never kept their distaste towards Downworlders particularly discreet, and having one of them stand expectant at his door today, clearly in need, felt quite good for a change. There could be a multitude of reasons behind this very interesting development- whatever it was, Magnus thinks he's liking the consequences already. 

"Please, come on in," he steps back, waving in the general direction of his abode, a faux-amicable expression masking his face. Maryse lends his tastefully-decorated loft a hasty glance; then cautiously hazards in a step. " _Demons_ , you say? Now that seems more of a Shadowhunter's forté than mine, doesn't it?"

"Usually, it is," Maryse replies, terse. "Unfortunately, our capabilities don't extend much into the realm of spells and wards, which..." She trails off, a vaguely sour look clouding over her features.

"Which, of course, fall right into _my_ area of expertise," Magnus finishes for her, his smile crinkling his eyes, silk-clad limbs swaying dramatically. He might be enjoying this conversation a _little_ too much. "It's quite unusual for the Clave to summon me directly though. Is there, perhaps, something _specific_ brewing over the horizon?"

He was, of course, referring to those sneaky little whispers that caught his ear amidst the usual ruckus down at Pandemonium. For a moment Maryse tenses, a steely look entering her eyes; Magnus almost expects her to revert to the crisp, usual rant of _'Clave business'_ and _'nothing of matter to a Downworlder'_ , but today seems to be just the day for surprises.

"It's a request," Maryse says, dodging the prod entirely, instead procuring a pearly-white envelope from the tiny leather pouch strapped behind her belt, the familiar Clave insignia stamped crimson upon it. "An _official appeal_ , if you will. For the past few months, there've been rising attempts of Demon infiltration within our Institutes, and the Clave is looking for ways to reinforce the protective wards placed around them. The New York Institute falls under our jurisdiction, and since you're in the city for now... we were hoping you'd come in and help us out."

 _Not for long,_ Magnus thinks, _with the threat of Valentine closing in faster and faster around us._ Owing to good sense though, he doesn't mention it.

"Hmm." Tapping a bejeweled finger along his chin, Magnus instead narrows his gaze, pretending to consider it for a moment. It's _hilarious_ the way Maryse riles up so easily, like a ruffled bird, her bubbling indignation craftily contained just below the surface. "I'll have to think about it. Give me a few days, will you?" Turning, he takes a few languid strides towards his balcony; then throws an abrupt glance over his shoulder. "Also, if I _do_ accept, there's the matter of my payment. The Clave will have to give me something in return- something with a _price_ , I'd expect."

"Of course," Maryse nods, bending down to gently place the envelope upon his gleaming circular table. She straightens, brushing invisible dust off her dress and shooting him a tight smile. "The Clave respects your demands, warlock, and shall provide you with a handsome barter. If you do choose to help us, please inform us beforehand, so that we can prepare the Institute for your arrival."

 _You mean disable those wards that keep demon-blooded creatures from entering._ Magnus smiles. "Of course. Thanks for the visit, Maryse- it was _delightful_ meeting you again."

The sentiment seems to be returned; for when Magnus turns- to sneak in a cheeky goodbye-, the sound of his front door slamming shut echoes loudly through the loft. _Typical Lightwood._

With languid fingers he picks up the envelope, sparing its formal-worded contents a cursory glance. He'll have to accept it, that much was clear; ignoring a direct Summon from the Clave was never a wise decision, however though he loved to mess with their generally uptight, sour-faced emissaries. 

"The New York Institute, huh?" he muses to Chairman Meow a minute later, running his fingers through the ball of fluff curled in his lap, smiling when the cat lets out a sleepy, satisfied purr. "Now _that_ is quite the trip to look forward to."

  


∴◖◟¤◞◗∴

  
Magnus Bane believes in being fashionably late. He also believes in being fashionably late to _make a point_ \- which is why he graces the Institute with his presence three days later, with nothing more than a ten-minute prior warning to Maryse, who finds herself rushing to cancel all returning plans to Idris at the very, _very_ last second.

Honestly, Magnus just wanted to have some fun. Judging by how well he'd already managed to piss off the Lightwood matriarch, he'd say he was doing _stellar_ so far.

  


"Again, I must apologise profusely," he cheerily quips, sashaying along the bright, high-roofed Institute corridors, strengthening the invisible wards set up at every nook and corner of the building. They were almost finished here; quite a number of people passing them by threw him second-glances, an attention he was all too happy reveling in. "Really, if I'd _known_ you were expected back in Idris, I'd have postponed this. Maybe by a few weeks-"

"This is alright," Maryse cuts in sharply, a steady presence by his side throughout this tour of the Institute. Magnus had to hand it to her; despite the alarming turbulence in her energy, betraying her emotions, the woman upheld a beautiful mask of composure on the outside. He could respect _that_. "We're almost done, aren't we? I'd say this visit was more fruitful than any you could've had a week later."

"Of course," Magnus allows, flicking his wrist, a soft, wavy blue sparkle shimmering between his fingertips. "It's been a while since I last came here. Also, the company's quite excellent."

Audibly, Maryse lets out a scoff, as if tenderly disagreeing. She opens her mouth to speak- but is interrupted by a sudden buzz emanating from her person. Taking a step back, she procures a small tablet from her back pocket- those fancy, high-tech devices the Clave Officials kept for conducting _'discreet discussions'_ \- a tiny dip forming between her brows. "Excuse me, Magnus," she says, holding the device upto her ear. Magnus can pick out a faint hum from the other side of the line, some wisps of a conversation- at least until a new clacking of heels interrupts them.

He turns. The girl- _woman_ , rather- looks back at him, the delicate arch of her left brow betraying a subtle curiosity. 

"Isabelle," Maryse calls out, addressing the young new arrival with a fluid beckon of her hand. The girl steps closer, a lithe statuette of smooth skin and inky runes, her flowing dark locks complimenting a pair of cherry-red, eye-catching lips. She had an interesting sense of fashion, her form-fitting attire speaking volumes about her comfort regarding her body. Magnus appreciated her style; if given a chance, maybe they could even end up bonding over it. _If only._

"This is Magnus Bane, the High Warlock of Brooklyn," Maryse introduces them, nodding towards the warlock, who gives the girl a playful bow. "He's here to reinforce the wards around our Institute. Magnus, this is my daughter, Isabelle. Unfortunately, the Clave is demanding my presence at a very urgent meeting, so I cannot continue on with this tour- Isabelle, escort the warlock to the door, will you?"

"Of course, Mother," Isabelle nods. As Maryse saunters away from them, sparing Magnus not even a backwards glance, she turns to fully face the warlock, seemingly taking him in from head-to-toe. "So, _you're_ the warlock who decided to help us out. We've heard a lot about you these last few days, y'know?"

"All good things, I hope," Magnus smiles, raising a brow. Isabelle grins then, a toothy, genuine smile, and Magnus thinks he likes her already. "Tell me, do all Lightwoods have that curious little spark in their eyes? Or are _you_ slightly special, Isabelle?"

"Please, have you _seen_ my Mother?" Brushing aside his flirtations with an easy eye-roll, Isabelle starts leading him downstairs, back towards the crowded, bustling Ground floor. The hum of whispers and Angel tech grows louder as they walk; Magnus can't help but admire the place, even though people like _him_ were essentially banned in here. Noticing his interest, Isabelle throws him a quick glance over her shoulder.

"Would you like me to show you around?" When Magnus opens his mouth- to politely refuse- she lifts up a finger and says, "Not like the official tour my Mother just gave you- I mean a _real_ tour. To actually get to know us, and this place."

Magnus blinks. _Quite atypical, for a Lightwood._ "Sure," he gives her an easy smile, pleasantly surprised. "I'd love that."

"Then, follow me." With an impish grin, Isabelle speed-walks to the right, towards the busiest place on the floor, seemingly a moving congregation of bright computers and loud Shadowhunters and people who were just too stressed to give a damn about each other's blood. Obediently, Magnus follows. "Honestly, you just managed to score the best tour-guide of this place. Let's start from here, shall we?"

  


∴◖◟¤◞◗∴

  


"That," Magnus says to his beautiful tour guide ten minutes later, with unflinching honesty, "is the most _tedious_ tracking attempt I've ever seen in my life."

  


"Easy for you to say," Isabelle remarks, coming to lean against a pristine-white table after talking Magnus through practically every remarkable corner around the Ground floor of the Institute. Magnus slinks in smoothly beside her, looking around, the elevated Training Area in clear sight before them. "Not every one of us can be a perfect Tracker, you know? What you guys do with a snap of your fingers takes us _years_ to master."

"A pity," Magnus huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. "From what I just saw, I'm almost inclined to offer myself to take care of all your tracking affairs. But then again, you'd have to pay me for every retrieved item, and now _that's_ a jumble of complications even I'd like to avoid. At least while I'm still around."

"Do you really have to do that?" Isabelle asks him, voice quiet, her eyes- large and dark and expressive, unlike the cool, calculating ones of her Mother- gleaming off a thousand and one unvoiced questions. "Every time you do something- does it always have to come at a price?"

"It's the only way to survive, darling," Magnus leans closer, his words as sombre as his posture was so outwardly casual. "Might be hard for you to believe, but unlike you, most of the Clave representatives I've come across aren't this friendly towards Downworlders. Even now I have difficulty understanding _why_ you offered me this tour, if not for ulterior motives," he shoots her a wink, getting a wan smile in return, "which is why it's imperative for people like us to hold our ground. To _demand_ it. So, we'll give you anything- _if_ you have the right price for it."

Isabelle's eyes widen at the margins, as if she hadn't expected that. Silence reigns between them for a long moment; Magnus lets the people, the rushing trainers and busy Shadowhunters occupy his attention for a bit. There seems to be a fight going on in the Training Area- if he tilted his head to the right, just a bit-

"- _still have to find her!_ "

" _And we will!_ " A deep, masculine voice loudly exclaims, in answer to the pitched, female, equally loud voice that floated down to the floor from somewhere above. " _I swear, Clary, we'll do everything in our power to find her, but that doesn't mean you can just storm off like that! Don't forget, you still have to_ -"

" _But she's missing, Jace! Missing! How can you expect me to sit around and do nothing when my Mom-_ "

" _Clary, seriously, did you even listen to a word I just said-_ "

"What's that?" Magnus asks gently, afraid of whatever answer he might get. "To make such a ruckus within a Shadowhunter Institute... I'm not quite sure if that's normal or not."

"Trust me, it's not." Resting a hand over her hip, Isabelle sighs tiredly, glancing up at the stairs where hints of long, crimson locks and tattooed runes frequently make an appearance. "That's... Jace and Clary. Who're, uh, arguing. Over... _things_. Jace is kinda like my brother, I guess. He's a Shadowhunter, one of our-"

"Fastest, strongest, fiercest," Magnus finishes the statement for her, swatting a hand. "Jace Wayland's reputation reaches far and beyond, Isabelle, even in the Downworld. But who is this other... _girl_ you speak of, with a voice that's-" he makes a face, the muscles around his mouth cringing awkwardly, " _ooh_ , potent enough to kill a demon, apparently."

"That's Clary Fairchild," Isabelle smiles a smile that seems equal parts fond and exasperated. "She's... new. And still adjusting to our world. We just found her days ago- since then, these noisy outbursts have become quite routine here."

 _Fairchild, huh?_ An old memory of Jocelyn Fairchild and her young, red-haired daughter Clarissa jumps to the forefront of Magnus' mind, momentarily silencing him. He shakes those thoughts away; judging by the conversation he just heard parts of, it seems like his foresight hadn't been too far off the mark. The daughter knew of the Shadow World, then. Whatever Jocelyn had planned while asking him to wipe her memories had spectacularly failed- it now only remained to see _how_.

Well. Looks like he was going to cross paths with the Shadowhunters shortly in the future.

"I see." Straightening, Magnus gives his guide an easy smile and taps lightly on his wrist, around which the mundanes usually liked tying their watches to. "While this has been a tremendously entertaining experience, I'm afraid we're running out of time." At that, Isabelle straightens as well, nodding understandingly. "So, Miss Lightwood. If it isn't much of a bother, care to see me out to the door?"

"Sure," Isabelle chuckles, side-stepping him to lead the way towards the exit. Magnus makes to follow, throwing a last glance around- which is when he suddenly freezes mid-step, eyes widening.

The Training Area.

Or rather, the _person_ standing in it, reviewing the weapons, the riveting sharpness of his profile stabbing Magnus right into the sternum. The angle had been wrong before, just slightly- now, under the glowing lights of the elevated space, the tall, fair, muscular man with soft, dark locks and clear sky eyes stood right within view, demanding Magnus' attention. The fair skin of his arms and neck, beyond the reaches of his tight olive-green t-shirt, were littered with loopy, obsidian runes; his large, careful hands, prying every arrow out of the quiver in the armoury with easy, delicate precision. The leather of his pants hugged his legs, showing off their built and length; and truly, this was the finest male specimen Magnus had laid his eyes upon for a while. Considering that he's been around for more than three centuries, that was seriously saying a _lot_.

The tall guy angled his face, using his _stele_ to print a glowing rune upon his cradled arrow. Magnus couldn't take his eyes off him; even for a man, he was simply _beautiful_. 

"Magnus?" he hears Isabelle call out, some distance away. He raises a hand to let her know she's been heard, but doesn't turn his face away just yet.

"Hey, what's wrong?" There's that familiar click-clacking of heels, and the young Lighwood is by his side again, understandably curious. "What're you looking at-" she stops mid-sentence, following Magnus' gaze to the Training Area, and to the stranger who went about his business obliviously. "Magnus," there was a strange tone to her voice now, something light, something guarded, ringing in the warlock's ears. "Why're you looking at him like that?"

"The greater question is: why doesn't _everybody_ look at him like that?" Tapping a finger to his chin, Magnus lets out a little sound, considering his own statement. "Actually, nevermind. If the entire world made it known how beautiful he truly was, I'd probably have a hard time catching his attention."

Isabelle snaps her face towards him, her dark eyes growing wide and sparkling. She had on a strange expression- a cross between disbelief and barely-contained glee. "Magnus, do you even _know_ who that is?"

"You'll tell me, won't you?" At the playful look that skitters past Isabelle's face, the warlock lets out an alarmed, barely-there huff. " _No_ -whatever you're thinking of doing, please don't. Spare a warlock the suspense, will you? I've had yearnings for unattainable people in the past before, but that doesn't mean you're to poke fun at my misery, Miss."

"On the _contrary_ ," Isabelle leans forward, a hand brushing Magnus' shoulders, a dazzling smile practically engulfing her, "I'm actually _thrilled_! Magnus, that's-" she glances around then, making sure they're not overheard, "that's Alec Lightwood, the oldest of the Lightwood siblings, _my_ older brother, and the current Acting Head of the Institute. God, he's- he's awkward, and uptight, and a _stickler_ for rules- but he's a good person, a _great_ brother, and I've been waiting for him to go out with someone for _years_ -ugh." With a heartfelt groan, the girl seems to melt around her edges a bit, eyeing Magnus with something akin to tentative delight. "You like him? I mean, I'm guessing you guys haven't even talked- but you've seen him, and you like him?"

"I do." Magnus admits, after a moment's consideration. Isabelle felt like someone he could trust (given the way she didn't bat an eye after discovering his interest in a _man_ \- not to mention her own _brother_ ), and truly an untapped source of information if Magnus ever hoped to get close to that handsome Shadow Hunter. "You're right, we've not actually exchanged a word. But I've _seen_ him, yes- and am frankly so impressed I might even do him _pro bono_ , no payment required."

It takes a moment for the joke to settle in; Isabelle rounds up on him with wide eyes, a finger raised threateningly to his face. "Let's not go there so soon," she tells him mock-seriously, a subtle warning in her voice. "If you're interested, just do things the right way. _I_ may be all up for casual flings and one-night stands- but Alec's different. He's... serious, about things, and really sensitive. You can't treat him lightly, Magnus. You _shouldn't_."

"Your brother sounds interesting already," Magnus notes, smiling down at her to assure that the advice has been heeded to. Throwing a last glance back at Alec Lightwood- who stood full-face towards the door then, a slender bow in hand, toying with the string expertly- Magnus smooths down the lapels of his bright-coloured jacket, gesturing for Isabelle to lead the way. He had to return, regrettably; and if he stood admiring the guy for even a moment longer, he's not sure he'd have the heart to go. As they walk, side-by-side, Isabelle keeps throwing him furtive glances; thoughtfully, Magnus strokes the underside of his chin and inquires:

"By the way, Isabelle. Before we part: would you say your brother is more of a flower or a cologne man?"

"Why don't you find that out for yourself?" Isabelle challenges, brow quirking; and _wow_ , looks like the next generation of the Lightwoods were a lot, _lot_ different compared to their grouchy ancestors. Magnus had neither the heart, nor any incentive, to complain.

  


∴◖◟¤◞◗∴

  


_Magnus,_ the fire-message he received from Maryse reads, an hour after he'd portalled himself back to his loft, _I hope my daughter escorted you out with no difficulties. I apologise for my absence, I'm sure you understand that the Clave bears little regard for our personal matters while dealing with Shadow World affairs at large. On behalf of the Institute, I thank you for your services today- we duly hope your visit here proved to be a pleasant and eventful one. -Regards, Maryse Lightwood._

"Maryse Lightwood," Magnus mutters under his breath, shaking his head at Chairman Meow who's once again the supreme ruler of his couch today. "Yes, thank you- today was _exceptionally_ eventful. If only you knew."

Maybe he should wait around for a bit, stay in New York a little longer than planned. Given the circumstances, there's no doubt the Shadowhunters would be seeking him out for assistance soon, and if through that he sneaked in _one_ proper interaction with Alexander Lightwood, it wouldn't do much harm to anyone, would it?

A soft breeze flutters in from the open balcony, ruffling Magnus' locks. From the couch, Chairman Meow lets out an agreeable purr.

  


∴◖◟¤◞◗∴

  


"Hey, Izzy."

  


Back at the Institute, Alexander Gideon Lightwood walks down the steps of the Training Area and corners his sister the moment she returns from seeing their Downworlder guest out of the Institute. He crosses his arms across his chest, shoulders slouched, lowering his voice to keep unnecessary people from snooping in. "Listen, that man you were walking around with- that's the owner of Pandemonium, isn't it? From that club where Jace met Clary?"

"Yeah. Magnus Bane." His sister nods, then raises an artfully-styled brow. "Why? Is something the matter?"

"No," Alec replies, too fast and too clipped, stepping away to establish a convincing air of disregard. "Nothing, just- he seemed familiar, that's all." He doesn't elaborate, quite purposefully; predictably, Isabelle shoots him a weird look, but allows him his space and doesn't inquire further.

Alec keeps shut; it's better not to share. He doesn't say how, on their very first night in Pandemonium, in the heat of a mission, he'd spied that very man under the dizzying club lights and felt his head spin- in a spine-tingling, remarkably _good_ way. Magnus Bane had been _regal_ , sitting atop the raised seats with crossed legs, his amber eyes glinting, a startling, shimmering presence amidst the noisy sweat and ruckus of Pandemonium. If not for the urgency of their mission, Alec might've stayed the night, just to observe him from afar- but as was the norm with Clary Fairchild, troubles had since bombarded them one after another, and were yet to lose momentum. Alec couldn't afford losing his focus right now; but if, if only-

"Why didn't Mother ask _me_ to escort him out?" he lets slip from his tongue, almost bitterly. "I'm the Acting Head of this Institute- shouldn't _I_ be the one handling these types of formalities?"

"She didn't want to interrupt your training. Besides, I was closer." Resting both hands upon her hips, Izzy shoots him a sly grin, one Alec had long grown to associate with sentiments that could spell _nothing_ good for him. "We actually had fun, y'know? I gave him a tour of the Institute, had some _interesting_ conversations. He seemed like a pretty good guy, the High Warlock."

"You gave a _Downworlder_ a detailed tour of the Institute? Izzy, are you crazy-"

"Relax, Big Bro, I didn't show him _everything_ ," his sister shoots him an unimpressed glare, clicking her tongue. "I just followed Mom when _she_ was showing him around, and the poor guy looked so miserable I had to do _something_. Couldn't have one of the most powerful warlocks in Idris go back with even more animosity towards the Shadow Hunters, could we? I _totally_ did you guys a favour."

Grunting quietly, Alec makes to go, when Izzy grabs him by the wrist, tugging him back. "But," she says, eyes glinting strangely, "I meant what I said, y'know? Magnus is... a cool guy. If we come across him someday, maybe you guys could try being friends, you know?"

 _I'm not sure I'll be able to see us as just friends,_ Alec doesn't say. He opens his mouth, to argue- when a loud clatter of boots diverts their attention, towards Jace, who was climbing down the stairs with a wide-eyed Clary in tow. _Not again,_ Alec wants to say, with passion, but Jace beats him to it a second before.

"I think we might have a way, to retrieve Clary's memories," his _parabatai_ speaks, panting harshly, fists clenched tight. There was a hot air of determination around him, something which told Alec he was willing to break every rule set down by the Clave to help out their stray. _Like that was any surprise._ "Clary says Jocelyn asked a warlock to erase all her memories of the Cup- some warlock named Magnus Bane. If we can find him, I think he can tell us a way to get them back."

"By the Angel," Izzy breathes out, with justified shock. "Oh my God, that's-"

 _The biggest freaking coincidence in the entire freaking world_. Alec clenches his teeth, mind growing hazy for a second. Sharp, amber eyes, glittering fingertips, and wind-swept dark locks- by Raziel, this was quite probably the luckiest _and_ unluckiest situation he's ever found himself in in his entire freaking life.

"I see," he manages to bite out, stiffening his fingers and trying to tone down the embarrassed heat blooming across his cheeks. Avoiding Izzy's sharp glance, he addresses Jace with all the composure he could muster, saying, "Let's find him then. And get Hodge- he might be able to help us with the search. Let's go."

 _Magnus Bane._ Looks like Alec was going to cross paths with him a _lot_ sooner than expected.

  


**Author's Note:**

> ...And, so their story begins! I hope you enjoyed the irony of Maryse Lightwood orchestrating the first meeting between Magnus and her son (～￣▽￣)~. Comments and kudos are very, very appreciated- this is my first published story in the Malec fandom, so please feel free to let me know your thoughts! They absolutely make my day! ヾ(≧▽≦*)o
> 
> Thank you very much for reading! Stay safe, everyone, and I hope you all have a great day/night! Bye bye! (o゜▽゜)o☆


End file.
